


Covens and Familiars

by KosmicPoptarts



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Familiars, I had to make jim an asshole in this, M/M, McLennon, Warlocks, Why Did I Write This?, Witchcraft, author has no idea how witchcraft works, idk - Freeform, im sorry jim i mean no disrespect bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:56:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28065090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KosmicPoptarts/pseuds/KosmicPoptarts
Summary: During the month following a young witch or warlocks 18th birthday, they are tasked with summoning a familiar. The familiar comes from a realm far away from our own. They are bonded for life, and when the witch or warlock dies, the familiar disappears, never to be seen again.That morbid end to the summary doesn't happen in this (yet). It's just an idea I had. This is vaguely inspired by a jori fic I read way back when, but really the only inspirations are the way familiars are summoned, and the coven being a big name in the witchcraft community or whatever. Keep in mind, Kosmic has no idea how witchcraft works, so don't come at me plz.May add more chapters, may not, we'll see.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Covens and Familiars

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ready as I'll ever be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709366) by [Dionysus_is_my_bae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dionysus_is_my_bae/pseuds/Dionysus_is_my_bae). 



Upon turning the age of 18, a young witch or warlock is tasked with summoning their familiar. The familiar will be a companion for life, and is said to be the greatest friend any magical being could ask for. It is a privilege for witches and warlocks to be guaranteed one. The familiars almost always take the form of an animal, although they do have a human form, the animal is more preferred. A young warlock found himself anxious for the witching hour. He had turned 18 a month ago, and his father was holding a large banquette for the other members of his coven to wish him luck. The warlock, Paul, grew a certain distaste for parties such as these, due to the death of his mother at one such banquette four years ago. Nevertheless, Paul forced a fake smile as he passed by the murmering McCartney Coven members. He knew well enough what they were discussing; him. 

He had mourned for his mother much more than anyone else in the coven had. His father thought it in poor taste, death was a part of most rituals, why should this one be any different. There was always a bittersweet air around the young warlock, one that people couldn’t quite place. Paul’s father was quite disappointed with how kind his son was. Paul knew this, but tonight he hoped that the summoning of his familiar would change that. Most members of the McCartney Coven had birds of some sort as their familiars. His father and mother, for example, had peafowls. The stoic and majestic male made his father stand out more than he already did. His mothers had been a beautiful, yet curious albino female. The gorgeous white bird had disappeared after his mother’s death, never to be seen again.

Paul felt a nervous lump form in his throat as the Coven members all lined up to wish him luck in the summoning of his familiar. He could tell that the wishes weren’t genuine, just by the way the members looked at him, their eyes feeling heavy with judgement. Finally, his father led him to the summoning chamber below the main gathering hall. Paul felt his father’s gaze burn a hole into his back. Paul didn’t want to be a disappointment anymore. He knew as soon as he summoned the bird, he would be welcomed into the Coven as their future leader. Paul shakily knelt in front of the bowl. A menacing dagger, bandages, a bowl, and a quill. Paul shuddered as he swallowed hard, taking the knife in hand. He caught a glimpse of his scared reflection before he dragged the blade across his palm, wincing at the sight of the blood that leaked from the wound. He focused his vision on the bowl, as it collected his blood, trying desperately to avoid the impending thoughts of what his father would say. Would he truly be proud, or would he still see his son as less than worthy?

Paul brushed away his thoughts as he hastily wrapped the bandages around his palm. He cursed to himself quietly at the pain, but was thankful that it was over. Paul took his time dragging the quill dipped in his blood across the smooth stone of the chamber. After successfully drawing out the sigil. He placed his uninjured palm onto the center and chanted the saying. He didn’t know much Latin, so he had not the slightest clue as to what he was saying. A warmth engulfed the room for a moment, and pale white light emanated from underneath Paul’s palm, but only for a second. After waiting for a moment, Paul let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looked around the cold room. Everything looked the same as it had before. Paul curled his legs up to his chest and cradled his injured hand. Had- had he done the summoning wrong? Had he misspoke? Had he painted the wrong sigil? Paul felt hot tears form in the corner of his eyes before they spilled out and down his cheeks. He really was a disappointment.

A saddened whine snapped Paul out of his thoughts. He looked up to find a scruffy maned wolf tilting its head at him. Paul scrambled to his knees. A maned wolf?! But, wasn’t he supposed to have a bird?! Paul watched with a hand over his mouth as the maned wolf slunk forward closer to him. It squinted up at him as it sat in front of him. Paul flinched as the wolf leaned forward to sniff at his hand, still covering his mouth. Slowly, he held his hand out to the wolf, who promptly sniffed his injured palm. The maned wolf suddenly rested its chin on his hand, seemingly smiling at him. Paul took this as a hint and he felt his worry and nervousness melt away as he scratched the wolf’s chin. Paul smiled down at the wolf.

“Are, are you my familiar?” Paul asked, barely above a whisper. The wolf squinted up at him once again. 

“Yes I am.” A nasally voice echoed in Paul’s head. Paul flinched again. Even though the wolf’s mouth hadn’t moved, he knew the voice came from the scruffy wolf. His almost orange fur glistened in the moonlight, and his brown eyes sparkled up at Paul. “I must say this is by far the best chin scratch I’ve had in a long time.” The maned wolf’s voice spoke again. Paul smiled gently. Paul sighed, pulling his hand away to rub at his temple.

“I’m sorry, I’m just confused. Almost every member of my coven has birds as their familiar. Not that I don’t already think you’re fantastic, but wasn’t I supposed to have a bird as well?” Paul asked, resting a hand on the wolf’s back as he laid down on Paul’s lap. The wolf was silent for a moment before he spoke again.

“I don’t know exactly how it’s decided. I just know that the deities came to me an’ said ‘The McCartney coven boy needs you now, John.’ And suddenly I was here.” The wolf said rolling onto his back, sticking his tongue out as Paul scratched behind his ear. “I’ve heard stories of your coven, and how nasty they are. You’re nothin’ like I expected.” The maned wolf said with a content huff. Paul smiled at this. At least someone liked him for who he was. Paul suddenly felt the weight on his lap increase. He looked down to be met face to face with a scruffy looking man, not much older than Paul was. His hair matched that of the wolf’s, as did his squinting eyes. The man smiled at him, a warm smile and Paul felt a pang in his heart. It had been so long since someone smiled that warmly at him. Paul smiled back at him, feeling a tear prick his eye.

The wolf’s (well, John, he supposed) eyebrows knit together as he reached an arm up to wipe at the falling tear. Paul laughed, grabbing John’s hand.

“No, no. It’s just been so long since someone actually, genuinely, smiled at me.” Paul spoke, chuckling. John sat up and without hesitation, hugged the warlock. Paul gasped at this, but hugged back, welcoming the much needed comfort. After a while they both pulled back, smiling. Paul spoke again. “John, huh?” The familiar raised an eyebrow. 

“That’s me name, yeah?” He said, confused. Paul chuckled again.

“It’s just so, normal, y’know? My father has a peafowl, and I think it’s name is Cornelius or something like that. Not a very nice bird, he is.” Paul jested, letting his gaze wander to the ceiling. John scoffed.

“Peafowl are such haughty birds. So full of themselves, the lot of them. The ones I’ve met were always entitled, always sayin’ stuff ‘bout how ‘majestic’ their feathers were. Much too bright for me. Always tellin’ me how unlucky my warlock would be, what with how ugly I was. I told them to just sod off-”

“I don’t think you’re ugly.” Paul blurted out, interrupting John’s rant. Though it was embarrassing to say, Paul meant it. John wasn’t ugly in the slightest, at least not to him. John’s mouth fell open a bit before he closed it and swallowed, a bright red blush crossed his face. John looked away.

“You’re, you’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you’re my warlock…” John trailed off. Paul pursed his lips.

“No, I meant it. You’re right, the peafowl’s colors are much too bright. Your hair an’ fur are just so, warm feeli-”

“Paul? Have you finished yet? You’re taking an awfully long time.” The voice of Paul’s father echoed from the corridor. Paul jerked around, only just seeing John turn back into a maned wolf. Paul made eye contact with his father, who stared him down. Paul stood, keeping the wolf behind him. His father’s eyebrows knitted together and his eyes narrowed. “Well? Have you summoned your familiar?” The man asked, eyes widening ever so slightly as a tall maned wolf slunk out from behind Paul and stood next to him, leaning into his hip. The wolf seemingly scowled up at him, even after Paul placed a hand on his shoulders.  
Paul’s father’s eyes narrowed once more.

“Yes I have. He’s right here.” Paul said, patting the wolf’s back, standing his ground. His father grimaced at how scruffy the mutt looked, and at the fact that his son had failed in summoning a peafowl like he had thought he would. Paul’s father was silent for a moment before he spoke again.

“I see. And what kind of image is this mutt supposed to keep up? Our coven is known for our status. A mutt does not portray this high status. It is the mark of a wild and unhinged coven. A coven with no rules. A mutt like this does not belong in our coven.” Paul felt tears prick in his eyes, and John started to growl menacingly. Paul’s father continued. “I knew you would disappoint me tonight. You’ve done nothing but disappoint me ever since your mother died. You are not my son. You are not welcome in my house, or in my coven, do you understand me?” Paul’s fathers voice was laced with venom, each word hitting like a ton of bricks. Paul held in his sobs, unable to to hide his tears. John only growled more viciously, barking every now and then. His father turned and returned to the main floor without another word, his peafowl sneered at them before following his warlock up the stairs and out of sight. John halted his growls and turned to Paul, who didn’t look him in the eyes. Suddenly, Paul looked at him, anger nullifying his spilled tears.

“We’re leaving. Now.” Paul said, stomping up the stairs. John followed after the distraught boy. He gazed into every room they passed. John scoffed at the expensive looking furniture. They came to a stop as Paul slammed open a door that apparently belonged to his room. Paul stormed in, hanging a bag from the door handle. He hastily gathered his clothes from his closet. When he turned around, John stood there, holding the bag open for him, a nervous half smile decorated his face. Paul’s glare softened, but he still continued to stuff his clothes into the bag. John looked around the room. Paul didn’t have much. Just clothes, a few books, quills, a guitar (strangely enough), some bottles filled with various remedies, and a silver locket which hung above his bed. He watched as the warlock carefully removed it and placed it gingerly on top of the bag before closing it. Paul swung the guitar in its case around his shoulder and nodded to John, who pulled the bag onto his back. The two made their way back through the halls before pausing just before they passed the gathering hall.

A coat appeared on John’s shoulders. He pulled Paul close and hoisted it up over both of them, shielding them from the jeers and threats shot at them from the coven members. John glared at them from the head hole he used to see out of. Neither said a word, and they kept this position until they reached the main doors. Paul pushed the doors open and they took off into a sprint. Jeers continued to be hurled at them long after they were out of sight of the property. The echoes of the taunts followed them for some time, until neither noticed that they had gone quiet. The two fell to the ground under a large oak tree. All at once, Paul sobbed his heart out, leaning into the hug his familiar offered.

After a while, the sobs died down, and a soft snore emanated from the young warlock. John sighed, pulling him closer. He leaned his chin into Paul’s hair, kissing the top of his head. What terrible excuses of magical beings the McCartney Coven was. How full of themselves do they have to be to disown and essentially banish what was supposed to be the future leader of their coven? He thought back to what the peafowl had sneered at him.

“You and your warlock are the worst I’ve ever seen.” The haughty bird had said. What a load of shite. Paul had been so kind to him, and was obviously distraught by the whole ordeal. He thought back to what Paul was saying before his father interrupted them.

“I don’t think you’re ugly. Your hair and fur are just so warm feeling.” Paul had said. He, like Paul, had never known such kindness. He smiled at the thought. A deep but friendly voice interrupted John’s thoughts, making him jump. He scolded himself when Paul stirred slightly.

“My goodness, are you alright?” John looked up to see a man, about their age, dressed in a raggedy sewn together shirt and trousers. Next to him sat a large black panther, eyeing the two curiously. Judging by the panther, and the bag of flower petals clutched in the man’s hand, John could tell he was a warlock. John sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“We’ve been better.” He said simply. The panther cocked its head to the side. “My warlock’s jus’ been disowned by ‘is da and kicked outta ‘is coven.” John said, pulling Paul impossibly closer.

“How terrible! Did you hear that, George?” The warlock asked his familiar. The panther looked up at him. Paul stirred once again, waking up this time. He tiredly looked up at the two strangers, then he looked to John, raising an eyebrow. A second later, a maned wolf sat where John had. The wolf looked to the panther.

“Is it true?” The panther asked sadly the wolf. The wolf looked at him mournfully.

“I’m afraid so.” He spoke. The panther nodded, looking up to his warlock. 

“Well, me an’ Georgie here don’t really have a coven of our own. We live nearby, and we was jus’ headin’ home. Would you two care to spend the night?” The warlock asked, smiling invitingly. Paul looked to John, who bumped his head against Paul’s. Paul smiled, standing up.

“If it wouldn’t be too intrusive, that would be nice.” Paul answered, scratching behind John’s ears. The four made their way through the forest, making remarks about the scenery. Paul learned the warlock’s name was Richie, and the familiar was obviously known as George. Eventually they found themselves at a small wooden cabin. The inside felt very homely. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace as Richie and George showed Paul and John to the guest room. Richie and a now human form George bid the two goodnight as they made their way to their own bedroom. Paul set his guitar in the corner and placed his bag next to the nightstand. He dug around in the bag for a moment before pulling out the silver locket and hanging it on the wall above the bed. John sat on the other side, watching curiously.

“Me mum, she passed away ‘bout four years ago. This was her locket. It’s kind of like a dream catcher to me.” Paul said sadly. Despite this, he turned to John, now a maned wolf again and laid down on the bed, pulling the quilt around himself and the wolf who splayed across his chest. Paul smiled, burying his face into the auburn colored fur, hugging John gently. The two fell asleep, not knowing what the future held. As they slept that night, they knew that as long as they had each other, they would face the world head-on.


End file.
